


Safe Haven

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Weasley Clock (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26499271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Arthur looked up in time to see a head of unruly black hair pop between the gap in the door and the frame. His memory wasn't what it used to be, a bit foggy and grey in places, and for a brief moment he was thrown back in time, back to sunlit days when a different black-haired bespectacled boy filled his home.Then he blinked, and it was Albus standing in the doorway instead.
Relationships: Albus Severus Potter & Arthur Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 303





	Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

> I joined a forum on fanfiction (ye olde days have returneth) and this is a prompt fill for Weasley Family Clock. So I thought I'd cross-post it here! Because I want to! There are no warnings, this is just a pure fluffy oneshot because I love Arthur Weasley and I think he'd be the most supportive Grandpa in the world. 
> 
> Enjoy!! <3

If all was right in the world, then Arthur Weasley could be found in his shed. That was the motto that most of the family lived by. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to stick their head round the door and call out a cheery greeting on their way to the house, although it was unlikely that Arthur would hear them over the crash and clatter of various tools. 

The shed was tucked on the right-hand side of the garden, underneath an old maple tree. Curved, honey-coloured leaves drifted down past the windows in autumn, and birds perched on the battered blue roof in spring. Arthur loved his family, and he loved it even more with each sprawling addition, but it was still something of a relief to retire to the familiar wood-stained floors and dusty air for a bit of peace and quiet. 

“Grandpa?”

Arthur looked up in time to see a head of unruly black hair pop between the gap in the door and the frame. His memory wasn’t what it used to be, a bit foggy and grey in places, and for a brief moment he was thrown back in time, back to sunlit days when a different black-haired boy with glasses and a tendency for trouble would fill his house and his garden and the unspotted hole in his family. 

Then he blinked, and it was no longer Harry Potter in his door. 

Albus Severus Potter was growing into his boots. Not into his father’s shadow, but his own two feet and freckled, knobbly knees. He still slouched under Arthur’s kindly gaze, burying his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, but there was a small smile on his face, and his heart stood tall and proud. 

“You busy?” Albus said. 

“Oh, there’s always something to keep me busy in here.” Arthur beamed, beckoning him inside with a spanner. “I’m fixing something. Come and hold this wire for me, will you?”

Albus shuffled across the shed and pinched the spoke of metal between his forefinger and thumb, standing where he was directed. He stayed quite still and almost silent, only humming in agreement when Arthur nudged his hands to a new spot. 

It was only when the repairs were finished and the glue was drying that Arthur slid his goggles up his forehead, put down his tools, and spun around on the rickety wooden stool to face him. 

“Something’s on your mind,” Arthur said, pulling off an oily glove. “Is it anything I can fix?”

“Not sure your tools will do much good here, Grandpa.”

“You’d be surprised what a proper hammer and some nails can do! Not to mention ‘Duck Tape.’ Fascinating stuff, that. Muggles really do come up with some astounding things, don't they?”

Albus snorted with laughter. He sunk into one of the spare stools, using the toe of his trainer to spin himself backwards and forth on the unstable seat, gently, like an indecisive pepper shaker. There _was_ something on his mind, Arthur could tell, but the look on his face said that it wasn’t eating at him, nibbling away at his subconscious until there was nothing of substance left. It was simply there. 

“I’m not even sure if it’s something that needs fixing,” Albus said. “It doesn’t feel like it needs fixing. I guess I’m just not used to feeling like this.”

Arthur caught his eye and smiled even more gently when Albus looked away immediately, cheeks flushed. 

“Ah,” Arthur said, with the air of a great philosopher lording his wisdom over the youth, “so it’s one of _those_ problems.”

Albus scrunched up his face. “Don't say it like that. I haven’t even told you what it is yet!”

Arthur laughed heartily, putting a hand on his chest. Then he wagged a finger in Albus’s face, taking off his other glove and turning back to his workstation, just to give him a little space. 

“I may not have been as hands-on as Molly, but I still raised seven children. And it might surprise you to find that I was once young and in love myself.” Arthur pushed the goggles down over his eyes and picked up a few finicky screws, searching for their slots. “You don't have to tell me, but I know that look very well.”

Albus grumbled a little and got off the stool. He dragged his feet around the shed, poking broken toasters and feathering his fingers over windchimes. Arthur let him be, ignoring the furtive, searching glances thrown his way. 

He had plenty of memories with this particular Grandson. Albus was always on the edge of every birthday party, every Christmas celebration, every summer holiday or half-term Quidditch game. He got into fights with his siblings and sulked when his cousins teased him. Arthur had only needed to hold Albus once when he was a tiny, pink, scrumpled baby to know that he was going to be a very sensitive boy. It had proved true. Whenever the world got too much and the family got too loud, Arthur would take that pudgy hand and lead Albus out to the shed, where they could eat sandwiches and tell wild Muggle stories about submarines and cloud kingdoms. Or there would be a knock on the open door, and Albus would shuffle in, looking for something to take his mind off things. 

Sometimes, when whatever was on his mind was too vast or too consuming, Arthur would keep quiet and occupied, careful not to ask questions or watch too closely, and Albus would let the words tumble out. 

“I wanted to bring someone to Percy’s wedding next week,” Albus said. 

“Oh?” 

“I got all the way to the front door, and then I chickened out.”

Arthur chuckled slightly. “That doesn’t mean you won’t ever get the chance again, Al. You don't get one moment or nothing at all. Whoever she is, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, and there’s nothing about you she won’t love, once you get around to asking her.”

The windchimes made an inquisitive, tranquil sound as Albus nudged them with the tips of his fingers. He was quiet, his head bowed, his gaze fixed firmly on a plastic carton full of paper-clips. He muttered something under his breath, something far too low for Arthur’s old ears to make out. 

“Hmm?” 

“Scorpius,” Albus said, louder. “It’s not a … it’s Scorpius. I wanted to ask Scorpius to the wedding.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, lowering his hammer. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. Perhaps he should have known from the minute Albus brought Scorpius to the Burrow after their second year at Hogwarts, both of them still swamped in robes that looked far too big for them, both of them grinning from ear to ear. The shy smiles and the shared cups of pumpkin juice, the days spent reading together in the garden or handling gnomes with little squeals and teasing laughter. The nights spent camped out in squashy beds in the living room, whispering over mugs of peppermint hot chocolate, and playing secret games of chess. The weeks and months and years afterwards, all of it spent together, all of it culminating in this particular moment in Arthur’s shed, a safe haven for both of them. 

It was obvious now, looking back. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. And yet something in Arthur stumbled, as though an uneven cobblestone had tripped him in the street. It only took a moment to right himself, to see the full picture and appreciate the view. 

Albus looked at him sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He was pink-cheeked and impossibly nervous, and even though Arthur’s son was marrying a Quidditch-obsessed man next week, even though his youngest boy had kept a poster of Viktor Krum under his pillow for a good chunk of a year, and no matter that his lovely Roxy didn't feel like a Roxanne anymore and was welcomed with open arms, he couldn’t blame Albus for being nervous. 

“Oh,” Arthur said softly, smiling. “Well, that’s a bit different, isn’t it? You’re going to need to ask him soon, or he won’t have time to have a proper suit tailored.”

“He isn’t that fancy,” Albus mumbled, but there was an undeniable look of relief on his face, edged with uncertainty. “You don't think it’s weird?”

Arthur patted the stool and waited until Albus took a seat. Then he took one of Albus’s hands in his, feeling the softness of youth beneath his papery, crinkled fingers. 

“Not at all. But do you think it’s weird?”

“Maybe. I don't know.” Albus blew out a breath. “I’ve never liked people before, y’know? Not like this, I mean. It didn't matter if they were girls or guys or something else, I just never felt like this about anyone. So _that_ bit’s weird. There’s all this stuff that I don't know what to do with.”

Arthur waited, listening to the last few warbles of the still-turning windchimes, and the sounds of Molly hollering in the garden. 

“But it’s not weird that it’s Scorpius,” Albus said finally. “That’s the only thing about all this that doesn’t feel confusing or weird. The fact that it’s Scorpius makes sense to me. It’s like he’s the only person it could have been.”

Arthur patted his hand clumsily. He wasn’t prone to fits of tears, not like Molly was, but his eyes were a little damp nonetheless. It was in the way that Albus smiled a bit, like he couldn’t help himself, like the very thought of Scorpius made it impossible to keep his teeth hidden. 

“Grandpa,” Albus complained quietly, half-laughing while Arthur wiped his eyes. 

“Forgive an old man! I’m just very proud of you, see. Now, hold this for me, will you?”

Albus snorted with laughter again while Arthur withdrew his hands, turning back to the mess that sat on his work-station. 

“Straight back to business. What are you working on, anyway?”

“The old family clock,” Arthur said. “Molly said it came crashing down on its own, though I think your brother may have had something to do with it. He was awfully sheepish that day, and she does have a soft spot for him.”

“Yeah, it’s worrying. One day he’s going to break something with his massive ego-inflated head and we’re going to know who to blame.”

Arthur handed Albus two of the smaller, unlabelled hands, and shot him a wry look. 

“We all have our soft spots, especially where Grandchildren are concerned. Don't tell the others though.”

Albus went bright red and ducked his head, grinning down at the hands. He studied them for a bit while Arthur dug about in the innards of the clock, removing the glued bits of cardboard that were keeping the cogs from clicking. There was a life’s worth of homely, loving magic poured into the clock. Arthur couldn’t bear to take it all the way apart, nor could he condone filling it with cold, clinical magic that healed most inanimate objects. When it broke, which it sometimes did, Arthur would take it apart carefully and knit it back together with screws and polish and his own callused fingers. 

“Remind me to teach you how to fix this properly one day,” Arthur said cheerily. “I won’t be around forever, you know, and someone will have to keep adding hands. I don't expect this family will ever stop growing.”

Not even as it shrunk. Fred’s hand was still pointed firmly at Home, because that was where he was. Arthur caught Molly polishing it lovingly every few months, and he felt that same wistful, tender ache every time he saw that cheeky smile set into the brass oval. 

“I’d like that,” Albus said. “I’m gonna go inside and see if dinner’s nearly ready. D’you want these?”

He held out the two hands. Arthur took one and pushed the other back towards him. Albus almost fumbled it, but held it close to his chest, a bewildered, curious look on his face. 

“You keep that one,” Arthur said. “I’m going to teach you how to fix this, remember? And I think it’s only fitting that you be the one to put Scorpius’s name on there, once you both get your moment.”

“Grandpa!” Albus stumbled off the stool, still clutching the hand tightly. “Christ, I haven’t even asked him on a date yet.”

But he was blushing and smiling like he couldn’t hide his happiness again, and he didn't let go of Scorpius’s hand, not once.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! <3


End file.
